


we'll be lost amongst the leaves

by moiraes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 10, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiraes/pseuds/moiraes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hand is shaking when he curls it into a fist and rests it against his chest, willing his head to be quiet so he can give into the seductive exhaustion. “It feels like the means to an end,” he’d said, only he’s too fucking scared to know exactly what that end is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll be lost amongst the leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Daughter's "Tomorrow"
> 
> super short but [someone on tumblr wrote "So, who’s gonna write the coda of Cas coming into Dean’s room and spooning him until Dean stops shaking and falls asleep?"](http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/111338362215/so-whos-gonna-write-the-coda-of-cas-coming-into) so this happened, whoops~

He makes his excuses and slips off to his bedroom, but he doesn’t sleep.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling, counting the dips and cracks in the plaster above his bed, trying to breathe, to swallow against everything he can still feel pumping in his veins.

The blade was power in his hand, pure and clean and simple. It felt like coming home. It felt like poison.

His hand is shaking when he curls it into a fist and rests it against his chest, willing his head to be quiet so he can give into the seductive exhaustion. “It feels like the means to an end,” he’d said, only he’s too fucking scared to know exactly what that end is. He’s never been one for destiny or fate -- hell, they’d stopped freaking _Satan_ and all the angels by telling God where to stick it -- but it feels inevitable, the way he’s been slowly sliding back into place, into Cain’s role. Remission and relapse. He’s _terrified_.

With a grunt, he sits up. He wants to punch something, to just aim himself and let go, howling and screaming and fighting until the dark, bloody end, but he’s just so damn tired. So instead he just sits and stares at the whorls of his fingertips, the scrapes on his knuckles, the bruises on his arms. He’s not sure how long he sits there, watching how his hands quiver against his jeans, but it isn’t until he hears footsteps down the hall that he finally looks up.

He knows the slow, deliberate pace belongs to Cas. Part of him knows he should be feeling relieved that it’s not Sam; he’s not sure whether he could take any more serious, forced optimism from his brother tonight, especially with Cain’s foreboding words still ringing in his ears. But he can’t dredge up any sort of emotion under the dull ache that’s settled over him. He can almost hear the hesitation as Cas’s steps falter right outside the closed door.

He knows that he could just sit there and stay quiet and it would only be a moment before they continued on. And he also knows that if he opened the door, Cas would only look at him with that quiet, fearful worry. But his body seems to have its own will, and he finds himself across the room and at the door before he can form a clear thought.

Cas is half-turned away, clearly about to continue down the hall when the door swings open, and for a moment, they just look at one another. There’s none of the fear or pity Dean had dreaded he’d see, but there’s certainly more than a little worry in the surprise etched on Cas’s face.

“Thought you’d be gone by now,” Dean hears himself say.

The surprise melts away. The worry stays, but it’s now accompanied by something so quiet and devastatingly tender. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cas says, calm and firm, as if Dean should have expected that answer, despite all past evidence to the contrary.

Dean wants to react. He wants to let himself, for once, feel the affection that Cas so freely offers, even if he wants to turn away from it at the same time. But it won’t seep in. He can’t feel anything past the numbness in his bones. He lets his hand fall from the doorknob and turns away, slumping back to the bed. The moment he sits, he looks up to where Cas is still hovering in the doorway. He can’t imagine what’s written on his face with how disconnected he feels, but whatever it is, Cas seems to be able to read it clear as a bell.

Dean thinks he sees Cas’s expression falter, but he’s turned away before Dean can get a good look. Cas’s hand lingers on the doorknob as he slowly closes the door behind him. He looks over at Dean, and for a brief moment, Dean worries he’ll ask if he’s okay. How could he even begin to answer that? But Cas is silent as he pads across the room and kneels in front of Dean.

There is only one brief, silent pause before Cas’s left hand reaches up and catches Dean’s right, and Dean can feel how the tremors are momentarily quelled in Cas's hold. The abyss in his chest is still yawning, swallowing him whole, but for a moment, it doesn’t feel quite as loud.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas repeats, and Dean can feel something crumbling to bits inside of him.

He sags. Dimly, he lets his other hand reach to rest against the side of Cas’s head, brushing against the hair that curls around his ear. “Thanks,” he says, and he barely recognizes his own voice, hoarse and dead and broken.

Dean tugs at Cas’s hand until he stands, hovering, hesitant, then releases it. The smile Dean tries to force won’t come, but something in his face must give it away, for he can see how Cas relaxes just a little. Dean slides across the bedspread until he’s fully on his side -- for even if the whole bed is ostensibly his, yeah, he has a side, and he’s never let himself truly think about who he was saving the other side for until now, as Cas peels off his coat and sits. Dean turns away, unable to look at how easily Cas seems to fit there, unsure of how to deal with the tight, hollow darkness that has taken root inside him, unwilling to think about how easily it could swallow all of them up.

Cas’s hand falls on his shoulder, tearing him from the familiar spiral his thoughts have begun to travel down, and neither of them say another word as Cas settles against him, holding him and steadying him as the trembling slowly dies down and he can finally, finally sleep.


End file.
